


Mama's Make-up

by orphan_account



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Cute Kids, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Pre-Laughing Toxin Jeremiah Valeska, Season/Series 02, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Soft Jeremiah Valeska, Soft Jerome Valeska
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jerome and Jeremiah stay up late for some nice brotherly bonding.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Mama's Make-up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelzmime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelzmime/gifts).



> This is a gift for a friend who gave me the prompt. I'm thinking of doing a series of Jerome and Jeremiah being soft brothers together and just trying to live life. Nice, fluffy and soft.
> 
> Also PLEASE don't leave incesty comments, this is purely brotherly love and PLATONIC AND FAMILIAL. I doubt that would happen, but things need to be said.
> 
> Enjoy reading!!!

"Jeremiah" Jerome spoke a little too loudly out of excitement. "You awake?" He pushed at his brother's shoulder, who was soundly asleep.

The other twin gave a small grunt "go to bed, it's gotta be past midnight by now. . ."

Jerome nodded, keeping his voice low, "it's three in the morning. Momma's asleep." He pulled and pushed at Jeremiah's small shoulder. "Get up!" 

"Fine! Fine. . ." Jeremiah slowly sat up, rubbing the tired ache out of his eyes. He reached over for the glasses on his night stand and put them on to see Jerome staring at him with a excited and giddy expression. "What's so crazy you woke me up? Did that clown fall asleep in your bed again?" He whispered, to make sure no one was woken up by their being awake.

Jerome shook his head and held up his mother's make-up kit. "I was able to snag this from mom's purse," he jumped up on Jeremiah's bed, sitting across from his brother. "Can do you my make-up?"

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow, looking at his brother with a bewildered expression. "You want me to do your make-up?"

"Uh-huh!" Jerome smile, opening the bag and pulling out various pallettes of vibrant reds and oranges—a few of magentas and pure hot pinks. "I see you do Momma's make-up when she gets all loopy and you're really good at it. And I wanted you to do it to me."

Jeremiah grabs one of the eyeshadow pallettes, examining the array of warm colors. "Are you sure? I mean—isn't that a girly thing to do?"

Although Jeremiah couldn't really see Jerome, he was able to feel Jerome's disgruntled stare. "It's only a girly thing if you make it one. Now shush and do my make-up before Momma hears us."

Jeremiah scoffed, adjusting himself to get into a comfortable position. "Can we turn the light on—"

"No! Not unless you want Momma to see us playing in her make-up."

Jeremiah pouted, grabbing an eyeshadow brush and a pallette of warm oranges and magenta. "Alright, it probably won't look so good without the light on— and you're probably gonna lose an eye." Jerome didn't protest, instead he kept his same giddy and expectant expression. "Close your eyes. And don't move. Or I'll poke your eye out."

Jerome snickered as he closed his eyes. "You're too weak to do that."

Jeremiah huffed as he started working. "I'm going to let that one slide—say anything else mean and you're gonna get a half-done job."

Jerome let out a small hum in acknowledgment as Jeremiah continued to paint his eyelids.

The two were rarely ever to have any bonding moments like this. Usually their birthgiver (as Jeremiah has decided to call her, since she was no mother) was too busy beating Jerome or having them withstand her non-stop moaning from whichever clown or local she brought into her room. In those moments, they'd hide in the much too small closet and share Jerome's hidden walkman—which he stole from some guy from when the Caravan stopped in one of the richer areas—to block out the disgusting sounds. Even in those moments, Jeremiah still felt like he and Jerome could be closer. He could stop his mom from hitting him with the clotheshanger or the electrical cord. He could push his Jerome out of the way so he was the one getting beat instead.

But he never does anything. And he hopes Jerome knows why, that he can't risk getting hurt. Because then he wouldn't he able to patch Jerome up after. Or he wouldn't be able to hold Jerome when he's shaking and crying about how his mother doesn't love him.

And while that may be true, Jeremiah loves him more than anyone.

"Pink or purple?" Jeremiah whispers after he gets the orange base coat down.

"Purple." Jerome hums, and Jeremiah continues working, blending purple onto Jerome's eyelid and allowing it to blend in like a reverse sunset. "Does it look good?"

"I'm not even done!" Jeremiah giggles, moving onto the other eye. "But it looks good so far, considering I can't see what I'm doing."

Jerome smiles, "good. If I look ugly I'm gonna beat you up."

Jeremiah snorts, "You would never." He pulls his hand away, satisfied with his work.

Jerome opens his eyes, a small sheen of mischief shining in them. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

"No you wouldn't, who else would do your make-up at 3 AM?" Jeremiah inquires, reaching over for the eyeliner. "Close your eyes, and I be extra careful—because this stuff hurts when it gets in your eye."

The other twin nodded, closing his eyes again and staying as still as he could manage. Jeremiah leans in, getting a decent wing shape on Jerome's right eye. He turns to do the other—surprised when it turns out close enough to the other side without having to do a major touch up.

"Alrighty. I got your eyes done. Go ahead and open them." Jeremiah instructed, reaching over to grab a mirror. "I'm not gonna do your lips, since mother would see we used it." He held the mirror out to Jerome, a small knot tying itself in his chest. "Do you. . . like it?"

Jerome's eyes widened out of shock and a large grin spread across his face. "Like it? Bro—I love it!" He whisper yelled as it stared into the mirror. Jeremiah let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, feeling prideful about Jerome's positive response. "I look like a prince." Jerome put down the mirror and looked up expectantly at Jeremiah. "Your turn!"

"Huh?" Jeremaih cocked his head, "what do you mean 'my turn'?"

"Your turn for make-up, dummy." Jerome grabbed the pallette. "I've never done it before, but it can't be that hard, can it?"

Jeremiah bit his lip out of anxiety. "I mean—you're gonna have to learn? If you wanna end up being one of the clowns." He handed Jerome the pallette and the brush. "Use the eyeshadow first, then eyeliner." He took off his glasses closed his eyes, "and please avoid poking my eyes out, I use them quite regularly."

Jerome scoffed, "I'll be careful. When am I ever not careful?" He leaned in, and Jeremiah felt a slight bit of pressure on his skin. "You're gonna look great—like something pretty. I haven't decided what, yet. But something pretty." He felt Jerome shift on the bed a little, making the springs screech. "Okay. . . this is a bit harder than I thought." Jeremiah could hear practically Jerome's pout in his voice.

"Just keep going, it's your first time doing it. I'm sure it looks fine."

Jerome sighed, moving to grab the eyeliner (or Jeremiah assumes). "Okay, don't move." He mumbled as he held Jeremiah in place and applied the thick lines. Eventually, he pulled back—growling like he did when frustrated. "It's not as good as yours. . ." he handed Jeremiah the mirror, prompting him to open his eyes and look into his reflection.

He was a mess. The eyeshadow was messy and his eyeliner was horribly uneven and asymmetrical. He smiled nonetheless, and looked up at Jerome. "It's fantastic. You made me look very pretty."

"Stop lying." Jerome huffed, looking away. "I hate when you do that. . ."

"I'm not lying." Jeremiah shifted so Jerome was looking at him. "It looks fantastic. You did an amazing job."

"Really?" Jerome looked up, his own make-up complimenting the happy shine in his eyes.

"Yeah." Jeremiah smiled. "Really."

Jeremiah swallowed harshly, tuning his television so the static hanging over the news channel faded away. He could barely hear what the reporter was saying, all he could see was Jerome's frenzied expression as he held a knife to a young boy's throat. Bruce Wayne's throat.

He could barely watch as Jerome yelled out incomprehensible phrases and then maniacal laughs. His throat closed as his shaking hand turned off the screen, running his hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes.

"Ecco?" He called out, prompting his proxy to look over to him. "Remember when I asked you to buy all that make-up?"

She nodded.

"Can you get it out and turn off the lights. . ?"

She nodded, turning to retrieve the set. 

Jeremiah sat patiently, rubbing at his eyes in a futile attempt to get rid of the image of Jerome holding a young billionaire hostage. It almost felt like his fault—well, that's a lie. It is his fault. If Jeremiah just had the courage to stand up to his mother just once or had half a brain to get Jerome out of the care of his bastard mother maybe everything would be okay. Maybe they could've still been. . . brothers.

Ecco set down the make-up, looking to Jeremiah for further instruction.

"Can you do my make-up? Just the eyes?"

"With no lights on?" She questioned, still grabbing the brush and opening the eyeshadow pallette she had aquired. "Sounds a little dangerous,"

Jeremiah huffed out an insufficient laugh. "I said the same once, it'll be fine." He took his glasses off and set them on the table beside him, closing his eyes and allowing Ecco to begin her work.

The two sat in silence, Ecco concentrating on the make-up application and Jeremiah basking in the waves of nostalgia and attempting to push the small pang of misery arising when he remembered Jerome's current situation. He needed to keep his mind away from that, if he was ever going to get work done or have the smallest chance of getting Jerome back to safety he'd have to be strong. Or at least much stronger than he now.

"Done." Ecco stated flatly.

"That was quick," Jeremiah remarked, opening his eyes. She looked down at him with no real expression—just as she always is.

"I have some experience with make-up. I didn't have to do anything too complicated, considering you only requested for eyeshadow and eyeliner." She handed him a mirror, which Jeremiah didn't really see or remember her grabbing. "Is this to your satisfaction."

When Jeremiah looked into mirror, the sadness he was trying to hold back flooded overwhelmingly. It was overall perfect, the symmetry and blending were spot on. Maybe it could've even been a look seen on a runway for some elite fashion designer.

It was too perfect. Nothing like Jerome's uneven and messy lines or applications.

He felt tears well up in his eyes. He was never going to have Jerome back, was he?

"Are you alright?" Ecco cocked her head.

"Yes." Jeremiah watched in the mirror as his mascara ran down his cheeks, staining them an diluted black. "I'm fine."

Jerome was gone, whatever remained of his brother was an empty husk of the boy he once was. Now he's just a psychotic man molded by the hands of his horrific mother—his brother was dead. And he killed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments feed my soul :))


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